Beyond Risk

by Connie Mann

  “Thanks. Keep the pressure on while I grab the first aid kit from my boat. Everybody stay low.”

  Hunter raced back to his boat in a crouch and called dispatch. “719-Ocala, need EMS at my 20. Shots fired, two injured, group of kayakers. EMS should be able to get pretty close on the old logging road,” he added. Though the CAD system kept track of every officer’s location, he’d learned as many of the back roads and trails in this part of the Ocala National Forest as he could since he’d joined Fish and Wildlife’s Ocala law-enforcement division over a year ago.

  “10-4, 719, EMS en route to your 20. Is the shooter still in the area?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “10-4. Backup en route.” He knew any officer patrolling the area would be headed his way.

  As he reached the group, another shot rang out, splintering bark from above their heads and earning shocked gasps from the teens. Hunter dropped low over Charlee, offering what protection he could as he looked up. Either their shooter had terrible aim, or this was some kind of warning. It had been too high to do any real damage. Still, they were out here, unprotected.

  He opened his first aid kit, took out gloves and several gauze pads, and handed them to Wyatt and Troy. “Keep pressure on those wounds, okay?”

  “Charlee. Ohmygod, Charlee.”

  Hunter looked up as Travis, the dark-haired college kid who worked at Tanner’s Outpost, stumbled over from the river, his kayak still wobbling from his quick exit. “Travis? What are you doing here? Get down.” The kid had been at the Outpost, loading kayaks that morning.

  “Is she okay?” Travis gasped, eyes wide as he stared at Charlee’s still face.

  “Travis. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” Hunter repeated, grabbing his arm and yanking him to the ground.

  Travis finally looked at him, and a dull flush spread over his pale skin. “I, ah, got off work early and thought I’d, ah, take my kayak out.”

  Hunter narrowed his gaze. He’d question Travis’s suspicious timing later.

  His eyes went to Charlee and the bleeding that didn’t want to stop. Brittany had lost consciousness from the pain, was still losing too much blood, but at least she was breathing.

  He met Oliver’s eyes. The other man nodded. “Go. We’ve got this.”

  Then he turned to Troy. “You’re doing good. EMS will be here shortly. I’m going after the idiot with the gun.” He checked his Glock and stayed low as he headed into the swamp.

  It didn’t take long to pick up the trail. With daily thunderstorms this time of year, this part of the swamp turned into a muddy mess, providing a nice easy trail to follow. He moved silently from tree to tree, every sense on alert, just like his military days. Though back then, Pete Tanner had been by his side, and they’d been in the desert, not the swamp.

  Hunter peered around a tree and heard a small noise off to his right. He eased that way, and the ground at his feet exploded. He jumped back behind the tree, noted the gunman’s location, fired, then moved quickly to another spot.

  Back and forth, back and forth, they fired and waited, fired and waited, though some of the shots aimed his way went wild.

  Enough. Hunter stepped out from behind the tree and started running a zigzag pattern, careful of the mud, determined to catch the man before he got away.

  Several shots rang out in quick succession, giving away the shooter’s location. Hunter fired back and ran toward the sound.

  He reached a small clearing just as he heard an engine start. He broke free of the tree line in time to see an aging blue pickup truck roar out onto the logging road. He shot out the back window and took out one of the tires, but the driver didn’t slow.

  He ran after the vehicle, still shooting until it disappeared from sight.

  He muttered a string of curses and stopped, hands on his knees while he caught his breath. Not only had the shooter escaped, the truck didn’t have a license plate.

  He called dispatch as sirens sounded in the distance, hoping someone could intercept the truck based on his description.

  Then he headed back to Charlee and the others, mind cataloging, processing. Given what had happened to Charlee a year ago, today’s attack made alarms clang in his head. But he wouldn’t make assumptions, let himself get tunnel vision. Right now, he had to focus on this scene, piece together what had happened today.

  Then he’d figure out how it intersected with last year. It was too soon to be sure, but every instinct told him someone had Charlee in their sights.

  He wouldn’t stop until he found them—and stopped them for good.

  Chapter 3

  An EMT named Drew looked up as Hunter approached Charlee’s gurney, eyeing her pale face above the cervical collar. “She’s still bleeding more than I’d like, but her vitals are stable, and she knows who’s president. They’ll do a CAT scan before they stitch her up.”

  Hunter clenched his jaw, then inclined his head toward the other gurney, where Drew’s partner and two other EMTs were working on Brittany. “Will she pull through?”

  Drew shrugged and looked away. Hunter understood. Kids were the hardest. “She lost a lot of blood, and we can’t tell how much damage that bullet did. They’re taking her to the trauma center at Ocala Regional.”

  “Thanks, Drew.” Hunter moved away and started a mental checklist for the investigation.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  He spun around to see Brittany’s father take a swing at Oliver, who didn’t fight back, just tried to dodge the blows. He hurried over and stepped between the two men, hands on Paul’s chest to keep him at a distance.

  “My baby could die, and it’s all his fault!”

  “Easy, Paul. I’m Lieutenant Boudreau with Fish and Wildlife. I know we were all a little busy when I introduced myself before. How about we go over here, and you tell me what happened today?”

  “I’ll tell you what happened. He tried to kill my daughter.” On the last word, all the fight went out of him, and he would have collapsed if Hunter hadn’t grabbed him. They sat on a nearby log, and Hunter gave the man a moment to collect himself.

  “Paul, I know this is hard, but I need you to walk me through what happened.”

  “I told you, he—”

  Hunter held up his hands in a stop gesture. “How old is Brittany?”

  “She is…oh God…sixteen.”

  “Besides Charlee, your guide, there were you and Brittany, your son Wyatt, right? Plus Oliver and two young men, Troy and Luke.” At Paul’s nod, he asked, “What time did you all leave the Outpost this morning?”

  Paul’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “Right after you did. Weren’t you there?”

  “Yes, sir, I was. Just want to make sure I have everything clear in my mind. So you launched from Ray Wayside and headed downriver.”

  He waited until Paul picked up the story.

  “Everything was fine. Charlee was amazing. She got Brittany to stop texting and even take a few pictures. It was the happiest I’ve seen her since…” He stopped, blinked back tears.

  “Everything was going fine. I, uh, pulled my kayak on shore to uh, make a pit stop, and when I came back, they were shouting for Brittany. They said she dropped her phone and went in after it. One of the boys, Troy, I think, tried to find her. And then Charlee and I dove in, too. But no matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t find her.”

  Paul raked his fingers through his hair as he continued. “I came up for air and saw Oliver dive down. For a minute”—he swallowed hard—“I thought they’d never come back up. But they finally did. Charlee tried to get Brittany to shore, and all of a sudden, someone started shooting.” His shoulders sagged. “You know the rest.”

  “Paul, why do you believe Oliver tried to hurt your daughter? It sounds like he and Charlee tried to save her. He helped do CPR.”

  “He wasn’t there when Brittany first wen
t under.”

  “You said you had gone ashore. How do you know he wasn’t there?” Hunter asked.

  “I just know. He was watching her all day, always popping up in the wrong place.” He buried his head in his hands. “What am I going to tell her mother?”

  “Mr. Harris, would you like to ride to the hospital with your daughter?” one of the EMTs asked as he walked over.

  Paul nodded and stood, then turned to Hunter. “I want whoever hurt my daughter punished.” He scowled in Oliver’s direction, then climbed into the back of the ambulance without once looking over at his son, who sat on a nearby log.

  Hunter watched the teen aim a look of pure malice toward his father as the ambulance doors closed. Then all the anger seemed to drain out of him as he pulled his feet up and buried his face in his bent knees.

  Hunter walked over to the boy, sat down beside him. “They’re going to take good care of her, I promise.”

  Wyatt nodded. “It doesn’t matter. This is all my fault.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugged, still not looking up. “He hates me. They both do,” he mumbled against his knees. “I should never have been born.”

  Hunter studied him, made a mental note to dig into the family’s background, figure out the dynamics. “Today was a hard day, but you did good, comforting your father, trying to help your sister.”

  Wyatt shot him a sideways glance. “I tried.”

  “Of course you did.” He paused. “You heard what your father said about Oliver. Do you agree?”

  Wyatt shook his head, hard. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I mean, that Oliver guy was watching Brittany all day. But he was watching Charlee, too, and was always around both of them. But he was in the water with us, so there’s no way he could have shot at us.”

  Smart kid. “What about when Brittany went under? Where was Oliver?”

  Wyatt went very still, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything happened really fast. I was just worried about Brittany.”

  Hunter patted his back, and the boy winced. “Did you get hurt today?”

  Wyatt looked away, mumbled, “Probably.”

  “Can I have a quick look?”

  Wyatt gave one jerky nod, and Hunter raised his shirt, noted the bruises on his back. They didn’t look fresh. He’d definitely need to check for a history of abuse. “You’re a good brother, Wyatt. She’s lucky to have you.”

  Wyatt snorted, but then he looked up with such hope in his eyes, it was painful to see. “Believe it, Wyatt. You were tough today.” He stood and motioned to a nearby sheriff’s deputy. “Let’s get you a ride to the hospital, okay?”

  As the deputy escorted Wyatt to his cruiser, Hunter went back to work, replaying the conversation. And the one with Paul earlier.

  * * *

  Charlee woke with a gasp of pain. The insistent throbbing in her head felt as though someone was banging on it with a rock. She tried to open her eyes, but the lids felt too heavy, so she left them closed. Gradually, the voices around her started to make sense.

  Someone gently brushed the hair back from her face. “You all right, cher?” Hunter’s Cajun drawl rumbled in her ear.

  This time, she pried her lids open and waited for her vision to clear. She must have been hurt worse than she’d thought, because Hunter looked worried, and he didn’t strike her as a worrier. She tried to turn her head and realized she was wearing a cervical collar and was strapped to a gurney, not far from the riverbank.

  He loomed over her, that tempting hint of stubble right in her face, those piercing green eyes studying her and seeing too much. “Hurts like getting beat with a baseball bat, but you’ll be all right.”

  Like pieces of a kaleidoscope, the last bits of memory fell into place. “Brittany is okay, right? You saved her?”

  His gaze never wavered. “They’re doing everything they can.”

  Charlee struggled to focus. “What does that mean? Is she alive?”

  “She was when they transported her to the hospital.”

  “What aren’t you saying, Hunter? My brain’s too fuzzy to read between the lines.”

  “You know she was shot. She lost a lot of blood. But she’s young.”

  Tears threatened, but she swallowed them back. “She’s stubborn, too. That should help, right?” Her heart felt like someone had pierced it with a stick, and guilt sloshed queasily in her stomach. How could she have let this happen? Again?

  As though he could read her mind, Hunter tucked the blanket around her and said, “Not your fault, cher. Blame the shooter who put a bullet in her.”

  “Did you catch him?”

  He shook his head, his gaze direct. “Not yet. But we will, I promise you that.”

  The panic she’d felt underwater rushed back, along with the suspicion she hadn’t been alone. Which was crazy, right? “Someone was down there.” The words popped out before she thought them through.

  Hunter’s gaze sharpened. “What are you talking about, cher?”

  She eyed him, desperate, suddenly, that he believe her. “Brittany had her foot caught under a log, which could happen. It took everything I had to pull her free. But…as I was trying to find her, it felt like somebody grabbed my ankle, tried to pull me down, too.”

  Hunter immediately walked to the end of the gurney, pulled back the sheet. “Which one?” He ran his big hands lightly over her skin, his touch raising goose bumps in his wake. “Here?”

  When he ran a finger over her left ankle, she winced. He leaned closer, gently turned it this way and that. “It’s bruised, no question.” He pulled his cell phone out and snapped pictures from every angle. “Did you see anyone down there?”

  “No. I couldn’t make out anything in that tannic water. But I’m not crazy. And I didn’t make this up.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “You are one of the sanest people I know.”

  Not exactly reassuring. “You need to believe me.”

  He tucked the sheet more securely around her. “I believe we have a lot of puzzle pieces to track down before we see the whole picture.”

  Everything inside her rebelled at the verbal pat on the head, and she fought against a frightening sense of déjà vu. Rick had said the same things a year ago, had dismissed her concerns about JJ’s death, had made her doubt what she knew. But before she could argue, the pounding in her skull increased so fast, it pulled her into the darkness beyond.

  * * *

  He raced away from the river, down the two-lane highway, heart pounding and hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, trying to keep the vehicle on the road. It kept pulling to one side because of the flat tire, and he fought it with everything he had. He just wanted to get home, away from the noise and the shouting. He couldn’t think when it was loud, when there were angry voices inside and outside his head.

  Everything had happened so fast, and none of it had gone the way he’d thought it would. He was only trying to help, to do what he’d been told to do. He’d created a distraction, hadn’t he?

  He eyed the rifle on the seat beside him, and his stomach got a little queasy when he remembered the blood in the water. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone.

  Especially not Charlee.

  His head pounded and his vision blurred, so he shook his head to clear it. A car horn blared, and he snapped his eyes open and veered back into his lane before he hit an oncoming car head-on. The driver shot him the finger as he went by, and he wanted to cry. No matter what he did, it was the wrong thing. All he’d tried to do was help. Make things better.

  Why couldn’t he get it right?

  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

  The words echoed in his head the whole way back to town. He stopped at a traffic light, tried to think. What now? He needed a new tire. And a back window. He had to bring the truck back as
good as new. That was the rule.

  A car honked behind him, and he started driving, but he got turned around, unsure which way to go. After another mile, his breath heaved out of his chest, and he pulled into a parking lot and put his head on the steering wheel. If he waited awhile, the chaos in his head would stop, the shouting would settle down, and he could think.

  Sure enough, after a few minutes, he raised his head and looked around. There, the ice cream place. He looked the other direction and saw the highway. Now he knew where he was—and how to get where he needed to go.

  He pulled into the junkyard the two of them had gone to before. When the man named Joe who worked there asked what he needed, he pointed to the tire and carefully counted out crumpled dollar bills to pay for a mostly new one. He checked the treads before he paid for it, to see how deep they were, just like he’d been taught. This one seemed to be okay. Tool Man would be happy with him and wouldn’t shout.

  “What happened to the back window?” Joe asked, a curious expression on his face.

  He chewed his lip, unsure what to say. Finally, he just looked down and shrugged. “Got old, maybe?”

  Joe chuckled. “If you say so, buddy.”

  “My name isn’t buddy.” As soon as he said the words, he ducked his head. Tool Man got mad if he told anyone his name. He said that was their secret. “Do you have another one?”

  Joe eyed the truck. “I think maybe I do. Come with me.”

  He looked up and smiled as he followed Joe. Yes, that would be good. If he came home with everything all fixed, Tool Man would be happy. He’d be glad he’d taken care of it. And he wouldn’t shout. “Thank you. Will it cost lots of money?”

  “We’ll get you squared away,” Joe said.

  He waited patiently while Joe found an old truck that looked just like the one he was driving, popped out the back window, and brought it back and installed it. Then, after he carefully handed over more crumpled bills, he drove away, smiling, unaware that the other three men in the place had been watching his every move.

  * * *